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<title>who would have thought the old man to have so much blood in him?! by lackingwxt</title>
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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887914">who would have thought the old man to have so much blood in him?!</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackingwxt/pseuds/lackingwxt'>lackingwxt</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Macbeth - Shakespeare, The Third Witch, rebecca reisert, the third witch by rebecca reisert</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-12-05</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 09:28:42</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,525</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27887914</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/lackingwxt/pseuds/lackingwxt</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>As Lady Macbeth loses her mind.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>who would have thought the old man to have so much blood in him?!</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>	You were not friends with Duncan. He was a drunkard king who loved to settle debates with fists rather than words. How similar in personality he was to your first husband! It sent shivers down your spine whenever you had to look at him, had to be near him and pretend that you wanted anything other than to peel his fingernails from his nailbed and dance to the screaming. The fantasies had always made you smile. His lips would split into a smile, and to some maybe it was charming. He would say that you were the “most beautiful flower in the garden” when you smiled like that. (He was not very creative.) His sausage fingers, thick and disgusting, would trail down whatever part of you was most available, tracing a pattern on your forearm, dancing alongside the whalebones in your corset. There was always some disgusting comment about how <i>lucky</i> your husband was to have you, how he had half a mind to take you as queen right then and there.</p>
<p>	Even queenhood could not make him attractive to you. </p>
<p>	You are not sad to see him dead. In fact, it brings you some peace. You are not entirely sure how serious Duncan was about making you queen. Your husband has inherited his throne. Through him, you are powerful; through him, you are in control. Scotland is yours. <i>Everything</i> is yours. People stumble over themselves to please you. Every breath your people take, every step they make, it is because you’ve allowed it. You have never felt so strong.</p>
<p>🗡🗡🗡</p>
<p>You were friends with Lord Banquo. He was a good man. There was something about him that was kind and powerful. He was loyal and jovial. You regret his death; it is the first that you regret. </p>
<p>The death of the previous king left you only with a sense of <i>rightness</i>, of security. </p>
<p>Banquo’s death unsettles something within you. There is something infallibly wrong about his death.</p>
<p>You remember when you were all young. Your Macbeth and Banquo had been no older than eighteen; you yourself maybe thirteen. You were round with child and sickly thin, trembling in fear whenever your first husband came around. Banquo was the first to notice.</p>
<p>No, that is not quite accurate. Others had noticed before, had seen how your first husband made you cower. Lord Banquo was the first to notice and <i>take issue</i> with it. Macbeth, blessed and kind soul that he is, could not see it. To hit a woman was an unfathomable offence. Why would he suspect his general of doing so? No, your Macbeth did not notice.</p>
<p>Lord Banquo did. He spotted your bruises with godly accuracy, saw your terror. He spoke. You do not know <i>how</i>, but you are certain he said something to your first husband. There was a point where the abuse, at least physical, stopped while he was around. Banquo would catch your eye and smile. He would ask how you were feeling; he would ask if you were eating. If life had been kinder to you in the past, he is the older brother you would have had. You are certain.</p>
<p>The world is colder without him. The world is decidedly worse without him.</p>
<p>There’s blood underneath your fingernails.</p>
<p>🗡🗡🗡</p>
<p>You did not have friends. You had ladies-in-waiting, flocking to keep you well-dressed, well-fed, and pleased. You did not need friends, for you had your husband and your status. What good would friends do you? You were not unkind, merely stern, and above many who interacted with you. You do not have friends — until Lady Macduff is murdered.</p>
<p>Only then do you realize that she was your friend.</p>
<p>The news reaches you through word of mouth. Your husband does not tell you himself. It takes all you have not to fall to your knees. You are a queen and you do not show weakness. A weak queen is a weak Scotland, and Scotland is not weak. </p>
<p>You scream at your ladies to leave you alone. Fits of passion — fits of <i>rage</i> — like these are not rare as of late. Your brother’s death — <i>Banquo’s</i> death, you have to remind yourself that he was not your brother, your heart forgets — has made them all the more likely. You are a loyal queen to your loyal subjects; they know they shall be mourned in this same way. A candle holder hits a maid on her way out, sharp silver breaking through the thin skin of the girl’s upper arm. </p>
<p>Red — red — red —</p>
<p>Blood — blood — blood — blood —</p>
<p>There must have been so much <i>blood</i>! You cannot breathe for the thought of it. </p>
<p>Lady Macduff was a kind woman. She did not grant you fake pity when you lost your girl; she only gave you a sad smile. You never cried into her arms, never sought her out, but she was <i>there</i>, present and constant in the same way Lord Banquo was. You are a skilled actress; she could never <i>quite</i> see through you, never get to the root of your ambitions, but she was not <i>stupid</i>. She understood that you never said as much as you knew, understood that some things were best kept hidden. There was a warmth in her eyes, in her tone; she told you that if you needed anything at all, she would be there. You believed her. As a lady, you believed her. As queen, you knew the offer stood. </p>
<p>She was everything that you are <i>not</i>. She was a good woman, a good mother — she was kind and she was playful and so, so very clever and. She would have given her life for her children in a way that you were not able. She <i>had</i> given her life for her children — and all the good it had done, that sacrifice! </p>
<p>The room shakes and shivers around you — it trembles terribly, as if Inverness itself were crying. There are loud noises — wood splintering — glass shattering — there is fire. There is screaming. You don’t realize that it is you until your husband breaks down the door. He yells, but you cannot hear him. </p>
<p>Your ears ring — your heart aches — you can’t — you <i>can’t</i> — there’s no <i>air</i>! There’s no air and —</p>
<p>He grabs you. He says something you can’t understand. All you can think about is Lady Macduff and her children — her large, large brood that loved her so very much — and how everyone is <i>dead</i>.</p>
<p>You need to get away — need to break something — need to do something. Your husband’s arms are not as warm and comforting as they once were. You blink and — and — he is without flesh, the features you love — <i>loved?</i> — twisting into something you can’t recognize. You did this. You did this to him. Everyone is dead because of him, and he did it for you. Because of <i>you</i>. You cannot stop screaming.</p>
<p>Your hands are covered in blood.</p>
<p>🗡🗡🗡</p>
<p>You can’t breathe — you can’t breathe — you can’t —</p>
<p>	There’s blood on your hands. No one can see it, but it appears more frequently now —</p>
<p>	It won’t go away now — there! There it is again, dripping between your fingers, dark and red and terrible. You understand why your husband has seen ghosts now. Does he still see them? Does he feel the guilt that you do? Does he regret it?</p>
<p>	It started with Duncan’s death! All of it! </p>
<p>	And the power was so sweet —</p>
<p>	The control was so complete —</p>
<p>	And your husband was too weak to —</p>
<p>	No! No, this is your fault! </p>
<p>	Isn’t it?</p>
<p>	There are voices inside your head now, all arguing over blame. There are times where you can tell them apart — there are times where they sound so much like you — you can no longer tell who is who. You think one of them is Duncan — another is Banquo (his voice is so welcome you almost cry to hear it, but it is so damning that you cannot <i>breathe</i>) — Lady Macduff and her children play within your mind. Each and every one of them tells you that you are damned.</p>
<p>	But only when you can tell them apart. </p>
<p>	They scream while you watch your hands, see them drip, see them stain the floor beneath you. Who would have thought the old man to have so much blood in him! His blood, the blood of Banquo, the blood of the lady, the blood of her children — <i>who would have thought the old man to have so much blood in him?! </i></p>
<p>Who would have — who would have — who would have known — who would have — </p>
<p>There’s a spot.</p>
<p>The blood on your hands is so much more than a <i>spot</i> — it drags and drips and it will not stop coming — </p>
<p>And then sometimes, less oft than not, it disappears into only a spot and you can <i>breathe</i> again — and in these moments of clarity, you know — you know you must wash it away, for if this spot leaves, then surely the river of blood will not return. Soap! Soap! You need soap! You need — you have to — </p>
<p>You can’t <i>think</i>! You can’t breathe! You can’t — you can’t — </p>
<p>The blood is back.</p>
<p>You fall onto your knees and sob.</p>
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